


Smoke

by kabrox18



Category: Crysis Series (Video Games)
Genre: this is tiny
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-05
Updated: 2016-09-05
Packaged: 2018-08-13 02:41:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 316
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7959166
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kabrox18/pseuds/kabrox18
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>a small drabble about a bad habit</p>
            </blockquote>





	Smoke

In, out, easy and smooth.  _ New lungs are nice _ , he thought with an indiscernible smirk. The burn of the laden smoke feels silky and warm in his chest, comforting and familiar. Chino steps out and looks to him, not saying much besides a vague noise of apprehension.

“New lungs and already you’re fuckin’ ‘em up.” The accent is sharp and easy, words like friends.

He rolls his neck lazily, not seeming to care in the least about the half-scolding. Another slow inhale-exhale, smoke coiling from his thick slate lips as if he’s some bastard alien-dragon hybrid. His arms are folded, hands tucked up between the bulk of his biceps and chest. The red glow of his visor catches in Chino’s eyes, and he notes the way the pupils dilate then contract the tiniest bit, focusing up on the impeccable curve of his artificial “eyes”.

“You're an ass,” the other mutters, and Alcatraz shrugs, lifting a hand to pluck the cigarette from the side of his mouth, tapping out the ash before slipping it back into the furrow where two heavy carbon bands meet. It makes him feel sleepy, nicotine closing off the receptors for the constant stream of combat enhancers and bullshit the suit’s feeding him all the time. It feels  _ good _ . Better than sex, maybe.

“You look like you’re gonna fall over,” his fellow marine grunts, eyes going down to the brown-green of the grass under their feet. Another lazy shrug, the carbon sticking and making that weird  _ rubbery _ noise that happens with every movement.

SECOND growls something in his ear, mostly annoyance at the shit in its user’s blood. Another easy motion, pull-tap-replace. He wonders if the AI lodged in his skull likes the taste of the smoke as much as he does, the bitterness soothing.

He thinks that, then promptly kills that train of thought. He doesn't care what SECOND thinks. Not anymore.


End file.
